


knee high, stage fright (even if you're alright)

by fayre



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, a study on tianshan's improving relationship dynamic, but really it's just for the fluff, stubborn yet sweet Mo, worried yet demanding He Tian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayre/pseuds/fayre
Summary: It’s no longer about what He Tian thinks; it’s about what he knows. And heknowsGuan Shan — at least on a foundational level — and he knows how Guan Shan doesn’t justaskwhen heneeds. He knows how Guan Shan doesn’t talk but doesn’t listen, either. He knows that Guan Shan doesn’t always think rationally but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think, and he knows how his body goes on autopilot before his thoughts cause him to malfunction and crash and burn.He knows.After all, it's the little things that add up. He Tian can only pray that they won't come crashing back down.(or: no matter how hard he may try, guan shan can't hideallhis problems. fluff ensues.)





	knee high, stage fright (even if you're alright)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this incredible and beautiful artwork](https://marmalalde.tumblr.com/post/184763040375/i-wanna-sleep-next-to-you-and-thats-all-i-wanna) by marmalalde on tumblr. _please_ go check out their work! you won't regret it. 
> 
> fic title from the Mystery Jet's ["First to Know,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAvLoFoHQ08) which was recommended to me by an anonymous user on [my tumblr](https://nightfayre.tumblr.com). thank you so much, and I hope you're able to read this fic!

Somehow, it became something to look forward to. Somehow, their Friday nights started to be composed of soda cans and pizza boxes; soft blankets and tough throw pillows; shitty movies or a few — more than _a few_ — competitive rounds of Mario Kart that always peak with a chorus of yelling. They don’t have to be quiet; the apartment walls are thick enough at the best of times. And there’s nothing ever lingering; nothing that ever calls attention to anything besides He Tian’s flatscreen and the never ending, “Where’s the chips? Who has the chips?” every five minutes or so.

They’ve become comfortable with the arrangement over the weeks. Jian Yi sits on the far end of the couch because he _always_ sits at the far end of the couch. And, consequently, that means Zheng Xi _always_ sits at the blonde’s feet, a pillow against his back for support and a blanket flung around his shoulders that also drapes across Jian Yi’s legs. And while He Tian understands _why_ Zheng Xi always chooses to sit there, he doesn’t understand _why_ he chooses to sit _there_ because it always ends in a bicker when Jian Yi’s excitement causes him to accidentally kick Zheng Xi in the head or yank the blanket from around his shoulders or catch his hair in his controller.

But just like the question of the chips, the bickers are fleeting and expected and always end with Jian Yi smiling, and so He Tian has learned to tune out their antics and instead focus on pulling ahead in the race, leaving Jian Yi’s Yoshi in the dust and flipping off the blonde’s whining protests afterwards.

The nights are always eventful; something close to a routine in their schedules. But, now, they’re resting. It’s close to midnight and the apartment is dark, lit only by the glow of the TV and the single lamp by He Tian’s bed. The intro video of Mario Kart is on repeat, volume low. Jian Yi is sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone and occasionally leaning over to show a funny post to Zheng Xi, who lifts his head from where it’s resting on Jian Yi’s knee and cracks a smile before calling the post stupid.

On the opposite side of the couch, Guan Shan is doing the same — except quieter and less social and with that unchanging scowl highlighted by the dim glow of his phone screen. And while He Tian has always had interest in what the redhead indulges in on social media — picking out what details he can from the corner of his eye in his strategically-placed armchair — he comes to realize that, tonight, he’s been looking at Guan Shan’s phone more often than he has his own. He’s been void of any intent to file the redhead’s online whereabouts for future reference and rather has been quietly observing something he doesn’t understand.

He’s been strangely curious in ways he isn’t used to.

But he can’t help it.

He Tian watches as Guan Shan’s fingers linger over the keyboard once again. Hesitating. The long strand of messages seems to haunt his screen; an endless back-and-forth conversation that’s anything but entertaining if Guan Shan’s tight expression is something to go off of. The other person starts typing, then deleting, then typing again — and when He Tian’s gaze flicks up, the look on Guan Shan’s face is complementary to the sharp shadows sinking into his features. Making him look tired.

But his eyesight can only go so far, and for the past twenty minutes He Tian has been staring at the steady flow of blue and gray messages over Guan Shan’s shoulder without knowing their contents nor the person on the other end of the conversation. Rather, all he knows is the fidget of Guan Shan’s thumbs and the abnormal _silence_ and the way he brings his bottom lip between his teeth like he always does when something’s bothering him — which, more often than not, is He Tian himself.

And maybe it’s exactly that — something that _isn’t_ He Tian bothering him to this extent — that makes He Tian hold his tongue and settle with watching. With wondering.

But it doesn’t last much longer. He’s forced to look away when Jian Yi suddenly sits up with a bear yawn and an exaggerated stretch, the movement dragging Guan Shan back to reality and prompting him to place his phone down. He Tian frowns.

Oblivious, Jian Yi rubs at an eye, waving his phone.

“Mom just texted,” he says, rolling out his neck. “Said I need to be home in twenty, ‘or else’.”

“Twenty minutes?” Zheng Xi asks dubiously, craning his neck to look up at him. “Can you even make it home from here in that time?”

Jian Yi shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe.” He leans over and swipes his sneakers from the floor, pulling them on. “If I take a taxi, probably.”

“Do you have cash?” Guan Shan asks skeptically.

Tying off his shoe, Jian Yi shoots him a guilty, lopsided smile. A telling expression. Guan Shan only gives him a flat look. Zheng Xi rolls his eyes.

But, without question, the latter tucks away his phone and climbs to his feet, brushing off crumbs from his jeans.

“I guess that means I’m taking you home, idiot,” Zheng Xi mutters, stepping into his own shoes and ignoring Jian Yi’s grateful grin.

“I can call for someone to pick you up,” He Tian offers. But Jian Yi shakes his head.

“Nah. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Plus,” he adds, giving Zheng Xi a hopeful smile as he walks backwards towards the door, “I want to get ice cream first.”

Zheng Xi gives him an incredulous look. “We— It’s _midnight._ Nothing is open.”

“The convenience stores are!”

“Jian Yi, you have twenty minutes to get home. _Twenty minutes._ We are not stopping for ice cream.”

“Please, Xixi!”

“No.”

“It’ll be quick!” Then, a grin. “I’ll race you there! Loser has to pay!”

Zheng Xi startles. “Jian _Y—!”_

But the door is already slamming behind the blonde. It resonates in the open area, shaking the walls. After a moment, Zheng Xi sighs, running a hand through his hair. He Tian isn’t quite sure whether it’s defeat or annoyance he sees in his eyes.

“See you guys later,” Zheng Xi mutters, swiping his jacket off the couch as he passes. He Tian gives him a lazy, two-fingered salute before the door gently clicks behind him.

The apartment is bathed in silence in his wake. Subconsciously, He Tian checks his watch, knowing that the two won’t make it back to Jian Yi’s in time because Zheng Xi will undoubtedly cave and get the ice cream — but also knowing that Jian Yi’s mother couldn’t be _that_ strict if she had left her son alone to his own devices for most of his life. Or at least, that’s what Jian Yi said. But Jian Yi also said that she was trying to do better as of late, and so He Tian can only imagine what that looks like. After all, it’s not like he has much to compare it to.

Moments pass. The game’s intro video loops back again, barely a murmur, washing over the remaining duo. The quiet is like a looming entity, but not entirely uncomfortable. When words fail and actions are like a ticking time bomb, the two have learned to become accustomed to silence when it’s necessary. When it’s the safest option.

But it’s only when He Tian realizes that he’s waiting for something — and that _something_ being the rustle of clothes, the soft clearing of a throat, the muttered, “I should be going, too,” as Guan Shan reaches for his shoes — does he realize that none of that is happening as it always does.

He looks at Guan Shan.

The redhead is no longer looking at his phone, but the film over his eyes is all the same as he stares out the windows on the far side of the apartment. With no light illuminating his face, Guan Shan is draped in shadows, his profile stoic and unmoving with the exception of that incessant worrying of his lip.

Eyes searching, watching, He Tian clears his throat.

“Do you need to be home, too?”

A simple question — but harsher than intended. Guan Shan turns to look at him, eyes dark.

“Apparently I do,” he says, cold, and starts to move — but He Tian sits up, holding out a hand.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. He’s met with a scowl. “You don’t have to go. You just — You usually leave when they leave.”

“Is that so?” His voice is flat. Empty. “Then why should it be any different today?”

There’s a clipped edge to his words; something unprecedented. He starts to move again, pushing to his feet in one motion, and He Tian frowns, more confused than he’d ever like to admit and more _annoyed_ than how he’s ever felt with Guan Shan.

“Guan Shan,” he says, louder than before. It echoes in the room, and Guan Shan’s eyes, lit to their cores, flit to his. He Tian jerks his chin to the couch. “Sit down.”

“What, am I your fuckin’ dog?”

“Sit _down,_ Guan Shan,” he snaps.

Direct and grim. No escape. And yet there’s a moment when Guan Shan hesitates; there always is. He Tian watches it all unfold in the darkness as Guan Shan looks away, jaw working, every possible scenario running through his head. He can practically see his thoughts like a neon sign flashing above his body: _And what would you fucking do if I just left?_

But He Tian only keeps watching him. Silent. And his eyes stay on him, even when Guan Shan exhales sharply, throws his phone on the coffee table with a clatter louder than he can afford, and falls back onto the couch, arms folded and looking away.

Something akin to relief washes over He Tian, but it’s quickly overridden by the same feeling of _puzzlement_ as before as he studies the poorly lit silhouette of Guan Shan. Outbursts are nothing new between them. In fact, it gives He Tian a definite reason to be concerned when there are none. But an outburst followed by a mellow, simmering submission is new; and, somehow, He Tian immediately finds it to be a secondary cause of concern.

He says, firm, “What’s wrong with—“

_No. Wrong. Start again._

He says, lower, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Guan Shan hisses. “I just want to leave.”

He Tian shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

Guan Shan shoots him a look, dangerous. “No? And what the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“You don’t,” He Tian exhales, “because if you did, you wouldn’t have sat back down. Actually, if you did, you would’ve been gone an hour ago.”

It’s no longer about what He Tian thinks; it’s about what he knows. And he _knows_ Guan Shan — at least on a foundational level — and he knows how Guan Shan doesn’t just _ask_ when he _needs._ He knows how Guan Shan doesn’t talk but doesn’t listen, either. He knows that Guan Shan doesn’t always think rationally but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think, and he knows how his body goes on autopilot before his thoughts cause him to malfunction and crash and burn.

He knows.

After all, it's the little things that add up. He Tian can only pray that they won't come crashing back down. 

So when Guan Shan looks away again, silent, He Tian knows that in some way, he’s right. He shifts in his chair.

“You were quiet all night,” he ventures.

A roll of eyes. “No, I wasn’t. I’m just not as damn loud as Jian Yi and Zheng Xi. No one is.”

“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about you.”

Guan Shan exhales, drawn out. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m fucking tired because it’s _midnight_ and I should be _home—“_

He Tian presses on. “You came nearly two hours late.”

And it’s true. In fact, he might’ve not come _at all_ if it weren’t for He Tian texting him, curious, asking, _Where are you?_ And, sure, it could’ve just been a slip of the mind; forgotten after a long day’s work. But the way Guan Shan had eventually come — quiet and scowling and barely muttering a greeting before collapsing on the couch — told He Tian that those two hours were likely summed up to something more than the average forgetfulness.

A disgusted scoff, and then Guan Shan shakes his head as if he can’t _believe_ this.

“We all don’t have the luxury to sit around and look fucking pretty in our apartments all night,” Guan Shan seethes. “Look, I’m not staying here so you can interrogate me on shit that’s none of your damn business, He Tian. You think you have some — _god given right_ to know everything but you _don’t_ and I’m too fucking tired to deal with you right now. So if we’re done, it’s late and I’m tired and I’m lea—“

“Who were you texting?”

It comes out without forethought. Immediately, He Tian wishes he could swallow the words right back down his throat. It’s like a hammer on a pristine sheet of glass, shattering the flaming irritation on Guan Shan’s face for half a second — then quickly slamming the rewind button and rebuilding his expression into an incredulous, _irate_ accusation with no opening to plead the fifth.

“You _read_ my fucking _texts?”_ Guan Shan spits, sitting upright. There’s a flame in his eyes that He Tian is smothered with, and it’s like holding onto a lit firework in his palm and praying to keep at least one finger. Useless.

He backpedals. “I didn’t read anything. I saw it by chance —“ _Liar._ “— and I didn’t even know who it was, much less what you were talking about.”

“That doesn’t fucking matter!” Guan Shan retaliates, hair on end. “Are you serious right now? Are you _that_ fucking determined to bury your nose into my shit that you peep my phone over my shoulder?”

He Tian’s brow furrows. “I said didn’t _see_ anything. Christ,” he shoots back, irritation bubbling above all else. “You’re real fucking jumpy for someone with ‘nothing wrong’. But since, apparently, there _is_ ‘nothing wrong’, then what’s the big deal?”

The look in Guan Shan’s eyes suddenly turns murderous.

“Every time,” he says, low and frigid, “every _single_ time, you fail to see what’s wrong with you.”

He Tian’s eyes flash. “At least I don’t act like I don’t have something to hide.”

Without missing a beat, Guan Shan laughs, empty and short-lived.

“Yeah, that’s fucking bullshit, He Tian,” he grits. “At least we can both agree on that.”

This time, when Guan Shan pushes off the couch, it’s not a threat. It’s not a might-be, might-not. Rather, it’s a finality that has He Tian solemnly following him, and Guan Shan has barely cleared the corner of the couch before He Tian is obstructing his escape route, the back of Guan Shan’s knees pressed against the side of the armrest, the muscles in his throat tight, his eyes fallen to where He Tian’s hands are tucked away in his jogger pockets because he can’t _stand_ looking up at He Tian when they’re this close and this volatile.

And He Tian doesn’t say a word. Only looks down at him; takes in the rigidity of his posture, the deep furrow of his brow. His bottom lip is swollen and sporting a neat row of teeth indents, of which Guan Shan traces over with his tongue before swallowing hard.

“You said you wouldn’t do this, asshole,” is all he says, tight.

And that’s all he needs to say because He Tian already knows he’s breaching contract. He’s already aware of his long-standing agreement with Guan Shan to just “give me _space,_ because I can’t _concentrate_ when you corner me and it makes me want to knock you upside the head and one day I actually will, He Tian.”

And, before, it was so natural a reaction. It was so easy for He Tian to use his speed and height to his advantage and prevent the conversation from ending because _he_ didn’t want it to end. But there are aspects, he realizes, that only make things harder between them when they don’t meet halfway.

And so He Tian said okay. Sure. And Guan Shan had given him that look that said he didn’t know whether to trust He Tian or repeat what he just said because he doesn’t even think his words were heard.

Somehow, it puts a bitter taste in the back of He Tian’s throat to know that he’s given Guan Shan his answer.

“I don’t want to do this,” He Tian says now. “I really don’t. But I can’t — won’t — let you just walk out of this, either.”

The words sink in but, nonetheless, He Tian takes half a step back. Just enough. Immediately, the tension in Guan Shan’s shoulders releases — just slightly — and amber eyes slide up to his.

“That’s a damn poor excuse,” he says after a moment, flat.

“It’s honesty,” He Tian says. “You know, that thing where we don’t lie. We’re supposed to be working on that, right?”

Guan Shan shakes his head, eyes closed, expression twisted sourly. “Don’t, He Tian.”

“No, I will, because I want to know. Is it about school? Me?”

And, powerless, Guan Shan can only shake his head. “No.”

“Is it about work? Or is it— Is it because I’ll make it worse?”

Hesitation. Then: “No.”

He Tian’s lips press. His eyes search him. “Then why won’t you let me at the very least _listen?”_ he asks, lower, relieving pressure. “You know I can help you, no matter—“

“I don’t _want_ your help. I don’t want it.” His teeth pinch his lip, painful. “I don’t want anyone else getting involved because it’ll only make it fuckin’ worse for you _and_ me and I just want this to blow over but you and my ma are making it so much more complicated when it doesn’t have to be. It just doesn’t.”

He Tian’s gaze locks on eyes that avoid him. “Then why don’t you want to go home?”

When Guan Shan looks at him, something unspoken passes through those amber eyes. But He Tian blinks and it’s gone. Dissipated into uncertainty.

“Because I can’t go home,” Guan Shan says eventually. His throat sounds sore. Overused. “My ma isn’t allowing me to.”

He Tian can only look at him. The question on his face must be obvious, because Guan Shan suddenly reels back, sucking in a quiet breath.

“I didn’t— I didn’t get _kicked out,”_ he amends, a little sour. “We both left. She’s not at our apartment, either.”

He Tian processes that. Asks: “Where is she?”

“At a friend’s. Someone she knows from work.” Guan Shan runs a hand through short-cut hair, agitated. Looks at his phone on the table. “And she wants me to stay there, too, and I did, but their apartment is so fucking small and they’re barely getting by with their own family and I don’t— I don’t want to be there. We don’t _need_ to be there, and I tell her that and she gets so fucking flustered for no good reason.”

“But why are you there to begin with?”

“Because I—“

Suddenly Guan Shan breaks off; caught up with reality. The look he gives He Tian is indecipherable; hard and wary in equal parts. A long moment passes as he processes what he can do, what he shouldn’t do, what he knows he ultimately will do.

And then his jaw works, and Guan Shan says, quiet, “Goddammit, He Tian.”

For just a moment, He Tian drops his gaze. It seems appropriate. Somehow it seems like the _only_ right thing to do when Guan Shan’s face turns from him as he weighs his options and escapes and consequences.

It’s a fragile moment. They go like that in silence. And it’s only when Guan Shan finally looks back to him, solemn, does He Tian slide his gaze back up and ensures that his expression is neutral.

“Because someone broke into our apartment last night,” Guan Shan says lowly. “Didn’t take shit — just broke in. Must’ve tried picking the lock because there were hell of a lot of scratches but gave up and just broke the damn lock entirely. And they did it in the period when we were both out of the apartment so they must know our schedules, and they didn’t fucking _take_ anything so they did it to send a message, and it’s the second time they’ve—“

“The _second_ time?” He Tian cuts in, sharp. “Guan Shan—“

“I fucking know, okay?” Guan Shan snaps. “I already know so save your breath. We just… _ignored it_ the first time because there’s not much we can _do,_ and my ma was shaken but she was fine. But this time she’s paranoid and she doesn’t want to stay there at all and she barely allowed me to come over here by myself tonight.”

He Tian runs his tongue over his teeth, unable to comprehend Guan Shan’s thought process throughout all of this. It’s laughable, almost. They’re both stubborn at the best of times, but this is beyond the standard boundaries.

“She’s paranoid for good fucking reason,” he decides on, firm. “You don’t turn a blind eye when your home is broken into _twice,_ Mo Guan Shan. They— When was the first time?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Guan Shan scoffs. “In that part of town? It could be my next door fuckin’ neighbor. Who knows. It could just be a stupid gang or someone who’s desperate or people against— against my pa. It could be anyone and I have no damn clue and I don’t _want_ to fucking know. I just don’t want to get my tail stuck between my damn legs and let them get the better of us.”

“You’re not giving in by having common sense, Red.” He Tian wets his lips, then shakes his head. “I know what you said but— Cheng, he has the resources and the people, he can—“

“I said fucking no, He Tian,” Guan Shan snaps, shooting him a sharp look. “Because if it _is_ related to my pa, then shit will hit the fan worse than it is now. Just leave it and let us figure it out.”

He Tian smiles, void of warmth. “You’re not figuring anything out. Your ‘grand plan’ is to just keep on keeping on and hope for the best and I guarantee that you will get nowhere with that.”

“There’s just some things I can’t fucking control, asshole,” Guan Shan grits, defensive.

“But this is one thing you _can,”_ He Tian says firmly. Guan Shan clicks his tongue, exasperated, but He Tian pushes through. “Let me help you. I’ll tell Cheng to post a few men around the complex and keep record of who goes in and out and when. At least then you’ll have a fair idea of who you’re dealing with and _then_ you can decide what you want to do — or don’t want to do — from there. I don’t care.” He swallows, frowning at the scowl still plastered on the redhead’s face. “You don’t have to go in guns blazing. Just don’t skip your opportunity when you have cards up your damn sleeve, Guan Shan. This is your _home._ Let me do this for you.”

The proposal sinks like oil in water. The bitter reluctance is obvious in Guan Shan’s face, but it’s accompanied by a contrasting hesitance pulling down the edges of his mouth. Slow, He Tian exhales.

“Fix your lock like normal. Spend some of your daytime at home, just like you usually do. Make them think you swept it under the rug again. Just don’t spend the night, and I’ll get Cheng to gather some people to help keep watch when you’re not there.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

Guan Shan sighs.

“I can’t. I’m not staying at that woman’s house again,” he says. “It was too much for them; I could tell. They have kids and only one bathroom and—“

“Then stay here.”

Guan Shan looks at him. Despite the barbed looked, He Tian doesn’t waver.

“I’m serious,” He Tian continues, level. “Bring your mom. I can buy a spare mattress. And you know I have the room.”

Guan Shan exhales, wispy. “He Tian…”

“It doesn’t have to be for free. You can help cook and clean. You can be in charge of groceries for the week. There won’t be a— a debt.”

Because that’s what it’s always about: a debt. Having something hanging over his head. Allowing He Tian to grasp hold of power that Guan Shan doesn’t know how to gain.

And it’s like watching a child swallow their first pill. Guan Shan looks damnear pained, as if He Tian had offered to give the unknown intruders a copy of Guan Shan’s house key and said, “Go ham.” And all He Tian wants to do is smooth out the wrinkles between his brows with the pad of his thumb and tell him to relax and _trust him._ Tell him that He Tian could help him fix this so fast it’d seem like an overnight issue. Tell him that it’s okay to use him because He Tian _wants_ to be used if it’s for Guan Shan’s sake.

It’s something that Guan Shan shouldn’t have to deal with. It’s something his mother shouldn’t have to deal with. And if He Tian isn’t allowed to help them in other ways, then he’ll be damned if he lets this opportunity pass him by.

So when He Tian reaches out, it’s instinctual. Guan Shan doesn’t move. His skin is warm against his hand; the edge of his jaw fits so perfectly in the curve of his palm. He relishes in Guan Shan’s barely audible intake of breath, surprised but not unpleasant, and He Tian’s gaze is steady as he runs his thumb over the soft surface of Guan Shan’s cheek. Once. Twice. Nothing more.

Nothing less.

“Okay?” He Tian asks, just above a murmur.

He feels Guan Shan swallow.

“Cheng’s people,” Guan Shan says quietly. “They’ll only monitor. Nothing more than that, He Tian.”

“I know. I’ll tell him.”

The night makes it intimate; makes it peel off the protective covering. There’s so little reason why Guan Shan should trust him with this, yet so many why He Tian wants to help. The imbalance is nauseating. He Tian hooks his thumb under his jawline, barely touching.

And, with visible effort, Guan Shan brings his eyes up to his. It’s a universal sign between them; words that need to be spoken but don’t have the courage to fuel them. It usually works. But someway, somehow, tonight, for He Tian, it’s not enough.

“I haven’t heard a yes,” he says.

There’s a pause, and then something close to dry amusement glints in Guan Shan’s eye. “Since when was _consent_ important to you?” he asks.

He Tian shrugs. Drags his thumbnail over pale skin. “Since I realized that’s what makes us better.”

Small improvements. It’s new to them; often uncomfortable, usually surprising. And so Guan Shan blinks. Looks for something on He Tian’s face, but comes up empty-handed.

Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay. Yeah.”

The warmth that floods He Tian’s chest is inexplicable. It wriggles to his core and settles at home. And maybe it’s the underlying content in Guan Shan’s expression or maybe it’s the _filling_ feeling of being trusted — of being relied on, albeit needing some prompting — that fills He Tian with want. But the urge is different than he ever thought it could be. The desire is something he never thought he’d understand.

But he allows it to guide him, to move him, and soon enough Guan Shan is giving him a bewildered look as the hand on his cheek slides down to his shoulder and begins to push, back, back, until Guan Shan is sitting on the armrest. But it’s not enough, and He Tian continues to push at him, moving forward as Guan Shan’s fingers scramble for purchase on his forearms, his shirt.

“He Tian — What are you _—!”_

He loses balance. Toppling backwards onto the couch, legs hanging off the edge, Guan Shan’s breath escapes him — and his eyes go wide as He Tian follows soon after. Bracing himself, his nose scrunches as He Tian’s body weight collapses on top of him with no regard and crushes him into the cushions, squeezing what little air he has left from his lungs.

 _“He Tian,”_ Guan Shan wheezes, pushing at his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the dead weight. “You’re fucking— _heavy,_ you asshole. Get— up!”

“I’m tired now,” He Tian mumbles into his shirt, muffled. “Just stay like this for a while…”

Guan Shan squirms, wriggling to escape. “You’re _heavy._ I can’t—!”

A final struggle. But He Tian doesn’t even budge, and finally Guan Shan gives in, arms falling limp as he heaves for breath. Scowling, he pushes limply at He Tian’s head.

“I can’t fucking — breathe like this,” he pushes out. “And we’re hanging halfway off the… the couch. Just — let me re-adjust.”

He feels He Tian smile against him, but it’s gone as He Tian complies and pushes off him with an arm. With the weight mostly lifted, Guan Shan gasps in a breath but wastes no time in scooting backwards, pulling the rest of his legs over the armrest and settling comfortably on the cushions, head propped against a pillow. And no more than a moment after he’s settled does He Tian plop back down, crushing the wind out of his lungs once more, but noticeably less painful than before.

Blithe and content, He Tian adjusts until he’s comfortable himself, halfway wedged between Guan Shan and the couch and halfway draped over Guan Shan’s body, arm slung over his torso. His head rests comfortably on Guan Shan’s chest, hair splayed over the redhead’s t-shirt. He can feel the warmth pressed against the side of his face; can feel the thrum of a muffled heartbeat slowly accelerating even as Guan Shan mutters complaints under his breath.

It’s a peace that’s indescribable. He Tian exhales long and slow. Urged on by the warmth and the dark, his eyes fall shut, and he’s convinced he could lay here, now, forever. And there’s so much work and explaining to do tomorrow to keep the Mo residence safe, but it’s _tomorrow’s_ work. Right now, he focuses on the faint smell of pizza on Guan Shan’s shirt and the thud of his racing heartbeat and the way the redhead is gently fidgeting, adjusting, moving—

resting a hand on the side of He Tian’s head, slipping his fingers into his hair, dragging his nails featherlight over his scalp.

He Tian goes still.

The touch, at first hesitant, gains traction as Guan Shan absentmindedly untangles knots, brushes down flyaways, traces small circles on the back of his head. It’s gentle, and soothing. And He Tian can only breathe. Not even that. It’s a touch he’s never received before. It’s a touch he hadn’t realized Guan Shan was capable of giving to him.

The effect is foreign yet electrifying. Sparks shoot from his head down his spine with every lazy stroke like a river current, and he doesn’t realize he shivers until the fingers suddenly stop their movements, tentative. And then, above him, Guan Shan huffs a quiet laugh.

“Are you ticklish?” Guan Shan murmurs, faintly amused. His voice has taken on a soft tone and his fingers are back to grazing, weightless, and He Tian feels like he’s in a daze. Feels like he doesn’t deserve this.

“Yes,” he breathes, lulled. “Though, for your safety, I suggest you don’t ever test it.”

A huff. “Corner me one more time and I might just have to.”

He Tian gives a breathy laugh, eyes heavy. He dips his head down as Guan Shan runs a strand between his fingers, then another, then another. Rhythmic.

“Fair enough,” says He Tian.

“Good.” Guan Shan taps his ear. “Now hand me the remote. I want to watch a movie.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get the image of an irritated/angry He Tian being brought down by an unexpected tickle attack...
> 
> again, this fic was based entirely off of [marmalade's work](https://marmalalde.tumblr.com/post/184763040375/i-wanna-sleep-next-to-you-and-thats-all-i-wanna) on tumblr! thank you for making such beautiful art!
> 
> comments and kudos **greatly** appreciated! thank you so much for reading, and come talk to me on [tumblr](https://nightfayre.tumblr.com) any time!!


End file.
